Maybe This Time
by cuethepulse-old
Summary: In which Sanji fails many, many times...and then maybe, possibly, wins. Various characters x Sanji. Contains both het and yaoi. Oneshot. AU.


Title: Maybe This Time  
Pairings: (in order of appearance) Nami/Sanji, Usopp/Sanji, Robin/Sanji, Luffy/Sanji, Sanji/Vivi, Sanji/Kalifa, Sanji/Zoro)  
Summary: In which Sanji fails many times…and than maybe, possibly, wins.  
Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters do not belong to me.  
A/N: Takes place in a modern AU. Based off "Maybe This Time" from the musical Cabaret.

_Maybe this time, I'll be lucky_

The first one Sanji fell for was a young woman with a short temper and a (lucky) habit of drinking him under the table several nights in a row. The first night he woke up with his head in her lap, he knew it was something special—even when, many nights later, he woke up on the cold kitchen floor.

He often came home to find her counting his money; when asked why, she would simply brush the bills across her lips and said it turned her on. Then she would undo the first few buttons on her top. She knew just how to sweet talk him.

She took most of the money when she left, and then called some days later, feeling guilty, offering it back. She was relieved when he told her not to worry about it. He just wanted her to be happy. He was glad that she'd left behind a bottle of her citrus-smelling shampoo; he'd always thought it was such a fresh and pleasant scent. But when he closed his eyes and inhaled, he only saw an image of her laughing at him.

_Maybe this time, he'll stay_

The second one was a boy—as much as Sanji liked him, he couldn't call him a man—with fabulous black curls that were sexy as hell when wet, and the most kissable porn-star lips Sanji had ever seen. He was an artist and his fingers seemed perpetually stained with charcoal. Sanji refused to pose for a portrait, but he still managed to find wayward sketchbook pages full of rough doodles of his hands or the stretch of his neck.

He was into practical jokes, bits of silly genius leftover from high school, and Sanji's apartment was consequently always decorated with a new mess. They fought sometimes—mostly Sanji yelling and him stumbling around trying to clean up and defend himself at the same time. But they got over it fairly quickly, until the next time.

He stayed for quite a while, until he managed to reunite with his high school sweetheart, a girl with hair almost as golden as Sanji's own. Sanji wasn't as forgiving this time; the break-up was rough. But Sanji went to their wedding anyway, and they often go bowling on Tuesdays.

_Maybe this time, for the first time, love won't hurry away_

The third was an older woman, a librarian whom he flirted with on a whim. He'd been surprised by the positive results of his fairly amateurish smooth talking: a rather exciting dinner date and a wonderfully lean, beautifully mature body spooned against his in the morning.

She never moved in with him—for reasons she declined to dispose—but they went out almost every night, him spending most of his time being in awe of her knowledge at museums, and her tracing patterns on his palm in the dark theatre during foreign films.

She was a woman of mystery; Sanji didn't know anything about her, really. So, it didn't surprise him too much when he started seeing men in dark suits hanging around when they went on dates, and when she ultimately disappeared from her library desk, and her phone number became nonexistent. The only thing he got was on their last night together, when she spoke against the skin of his shoulder, saying she'd never want to see him hurt. He searched for her for a while, even considered hiring a private investigator if he could scrounge up enough money, until he found flowers outside his door with a note reading: _Thanks_. Thanks for what, he was never sure.

_He will hold me fast, I'll be home at last_

For the fourth, Sanji tried a boy again. The boy loved to eat and, being a cook, Sanji thusly loved the boy. At every meal, the boy would announce with his mouth full of food, that Sanji would cook for him for the rest of his life. And though he brushed off the statement, it never failed to make Sanji smile around his cigarette.

After food, the boy's favorite thing was his straw hat. It seemed he never took it off. He even wore it in bed. Sanji was constantly trying to see if he could make it fall off; he never succeeded. He would glare at that hat afterwards, grudgingly marveling at its resilience, and the boy would laugh and wrap his arms around him. And Sanji would forget about the stupid hat, because nothing really else really mattered when the boy held him like that.

But the boy wanted more. He wanted more places and more faces and more thrills, and Sanji was too settled. The boy told Sanji not to be sad about it, and he tried not to be. And that hat cast shadows over the boy's face, so even though the boy said he was smiling, Sanji had the sneaking suspicion that he was lying.

_Not a loser anymore, like the last time, and the time before_

Sanji returned to a women for the fifth and the sixth.

The fifth was a senator's daughter, a sweet girl, though a tad bit clumsy. She was fond of rubber duckies and dancing in the rain. Sanji took great enjoyment in having her wet body pressed against his, and he swooned over her when she blushed. She was a virgin and hinted at a desire to wait until marriage, and Sanji would have been glad to marry her. But she was a senator's daughter.

The sixth was a secretary, the curviest woman he'd had the fortune to take home. She was into sex, and he was into sex, so it was perfect until he decided he was into love, too. And she liked to play games, and she wasn't always kind, and though he let her do what she wanted, she eventually learned to feel shame; and she left him with a firm kiss and her pity.

_All the odds are in my favor, something's bound to begin_

Sanji took some time off from dating, focused on his cooking. He moved up in the restaurant business until he had his own. He got out of his apartment, bought a house with a big kitchen he kissed every inch of. He became a fantastic bowler.

But he was lonely, and his friends were becoming couples, and couples were becoming families. And he was spending his nights alone with a single, solitary glass of red wine, and his own hand down his slacks. He went out to clubs, but found that he was running out of honeyed words and compliments, and the memories of the lovers that left were starting to take their painful toll.

He was tired of being alone, and was willing to jump the next person who showed any interest—_whoever _it was.

_It's got to happen, happen sometime_

That person, the seventh, turned out to be a man. A man this time, though Sanji still thought he preferred women and boys. They met a local YMCA where they were both regulars, and they were always tied for lifting the most weight. They were vicious rivals, and the air around them was constantly heavy with competition. But he was attractive for a man, and Sanji was an attractive man, and that tension took a different form. And it wasn't long before Sanji found himself pinned against the lockers, being kissed by rough, chapped lips.

He made for an irritating roommate. He left the cap off the toothpaste and water pooling on the floor when he got out of the shower. He slept often, and always seemed to be in Sanji's way. He recorded sports on TV regularly, and wouldn't speak to Sanji for days if he accidentally changed the channel or left the cable off. He drank too much, but he never got drunk, so Sanji didn't really see the point, since all he drank was cheap shit that didn't taste good at all.

And yet, there was something about him that made it all worth it. Something even more than the sex—and the sex was great. Something about the way the man looked at him afterwards or the way he grinned when he called him names. Or the way he never really complimented Sanji on his cooking skills, but then, never, ever wanted to go out to eat or order take-out. Sanji wouldn't call it love, because every time it became love, it ended. So he wouldn't call it love, until the other man called it love first. And there was something in the way they acted when they were together that caused Sanji to believe that he wouldn't have to wait too long.

_Maybe this time I'll win_


End file.
